Kiss The Shotgun.

OVERVIEW

This Poem Is Inspired By The Victimization Of Religious Homophobia & Is Based On Real Life Events. Help & Support Can Be Found Via Accessing The Following Link For The Naz & Matt Foundation. They Work To Educate & Challenge People About Religious Homophobia – https://www.nazandmattfoundation.org/donate/

“Hammer Time”.

They Cringe At Five Spices, And They Rock Heavy Fashion.

And They’ll Never Discuss, Taboos Slick Passion.

They’ll Hypnotize Your Mind, And Smother Your Bones.

By Incarcerating You, In Rancid Hail Stones.

Ethnocentric, Miss Trunchbull, And One Sided Tales.

Rolling You Over, Hay Stacking Square Bales.

They’ll Paint You As A Ghost, Who’s Off Your Rocker.

If You Don’t Join Their Candles, All You’ve Got Is Beat Blocker.

Controversial Ideologies Imprinted, To Create A Cold War.

I Thought Hitler Was Dead; Why’s He At My Front Door?

Stamped With Ruby Letters, As They Tick Their Checklist.

Shouting: “This One’s A Goner, For, They Dance With A Twist”.

Human Rights: I Have Freedom, But, They Hold The Pitchfork.

People’s Heads Are Messed Up, Dripping With Powdered Chalk.

Paper Cuts They Run Deep, For, People’s Skin It Bleeds.

So, Why Continue To Bash Us Like Biscuits, For Proceeds?

The Lambs, They Called Round To Spread The Good Word.

But, I Just Stood There Thinking: “What The Hell? It’s Absurd!”.

All Who Come To The Cross, Will Be Raised From The Dead.

Anarchic Fingertips Cry Out: “We Don’t Want To Be Spoon Fed”.

I Respect Their Views, But, It’s Not Really For Me.

Because I Wear Baggy Trousers, Break Rules, And Disagree.

People Want Life And Laughter, Not A Game Of Oppression.

So, Pipe Down And Minimise, Your Manners Of Aggression.

It’s Up To Me To Challenge, In Writing, This Form.

Rigid Thinkers Who Are Driven, By Salty Pop-Corn.

Take Your Black And White Collars, And The Scales Off Your Eyes.

Donald: Stop Building Walls, And Spit Out Those Black Flies.

Mental Health On The Increase, Still Colouring Scars.

Ignorance Oozing Hot Pants, As P!nk Tries The Gay Bars.

Mr. Orange His Sticky Liquid, Is Fed To The Damned.

For, Glitter Bullets In The Cupboard, Mark You As Their Brand.

I Cannot Understand What Goes Off, Inside Their Bearded Minds.

So, I’m Questioning Their Ethics, By Using These Rhymes.

She Couldn’t Sit In The Seat, Where Her Music, She Played.

As It Was Written Off And Then Sold, To A Worthier Skin Trade.

Injected And Abused! No State Of Sanity, You’re Now Cabbaged.

Do You Care About The People, Whose Lives You’ve Mismanaged?

I’ve Got A Torch In My Hand, And A Sharp Tongue For Dessert.

I’ve Skimmed My Tools Well, To Show You How To Flirt!

Careless Whispers Rattle Round, As On The Decks Fire Plays.

Red Pen, Muddy Stigmas, Because We Don’t Speak Straight A’s.

Classifications That Cut-Throat, Costing Your Worth In Time.

You’re Either On Solid Ground, Or It’s Carnage, Shoes, Shine.

I’d Love A Magic Wand, Because This World Is Cruel, And It Smokes.

It Licks Candy From The Gutter, And Sprays You With Steel Oaks.

Staple Magic Dust To Your Thighs, And Bring A Can Of Graffiti.

Drizzle Bittersweet Grammar Laced In Sweat, Dead Meaty.

Wear Your Seat-Belt With Pride, And A Bullet-Proof Vest.

Because This Battle Isn’t Over, There’s More Acid To Digest!

Hercules Frowning From The Clouds: “This Is Not What I Meant.

I Didn’t Want Hard Hearts And Prophets, Monopolizing This Tent”.

You Cannot Needle Bomb This Generation, To Think Like The Elite.

Because They Swipe Fetching Liquor, And Sound Their Own Beat.

I’ve Got Dysprosium Clippers In My Eyes, Which Disfigures My Flesh.

And My Tiny Brain It’s All Mangled, Like Dead Chickens’ In Mesh.

I’ve Tossed Cookies In My Pocket, And Now I’m Giving Them Back.

Because You’re Failing To Listen, And Keep Giving Us Pure Slack.

This Chronicle Has Left Nation’s, On Leather Faces Death Train.

It’s Sad To Think That Religious Politics, Can Cause So Much Pain!

Edwin Starr Echoes In Yellow: “Kiss Those Bloody Shot Guns Goodnight.

And Down The Juices From Peppered Pigs, Basked In Brown Sugar As You Fight!”.